Love and Recovery
by Books to the Ceiling
Summary: Harry returns to Privet Drive after his third year to find that the Dursleys, have picked up abuse again. At the Burrow he catches the eye of a Weasley the only one to notice his pain. More inside. Warnings: Abuse, slash, and possible others in future.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey y'all! This is the first chapter of Love and Recovery. Please Read and Review, this is my first story like this and I'd really like some feedback.

Summary: Harry returns to the Dursleys after his third year to see that his relatives have picked up abuse again after the inflation of Aunt Marge. He quickly reverts back to the child he was before Hogwarts. When he goes to the Burrow for the Quidditch World Cup he catches the eye of a certain Weasley; the only one to catch onto his pain.

Harry stepped through the barrier and delivered the news of his on-the-run godfather to his Aunt, Uncle and cousin. Inside he was barely holding back a laugh of joy. He had never expected to be so happy stepping off the Hogwarts express and into Kings Cross Station, but the letter from Sirius had washed away most feelings of despair. Beyond that he was waiting for the shocked, frightened looks to appear on his family's faces. A sure sign that he would be left well alone this summer.

Therefore he was shocked when their faces, especially Vernon's, transformed into anger instead. Uncle Vernon's voice came out in a low growl,

"Get in the car boy!" Harry flinched at the sound and turned to give one last half-heated wave to Hermione and the Weasleys.

As they drove home the car was filled with a strained silence. And through the rear view mirror Harry could see Uncle Vernon's purple face, quivering moustache and pursed lips. When they arrived home Aunt Petunia and Dudley immediately scurried off to their own activities while Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's trunk and threw it into the cupboard under the stairs. He threw a glare at Harry,

"Up to your room!" And he walked into the kitchen. Harry moved slowly up the steps and sat heavily on his bed, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. Within minutes he could hear the sounds of his uncle stomping up the steps and he felt a little nugget of fear come up inside of him. Memories from the years before Hogwarts rose to the top of his mind. Those years were the ones when his uncle storming up the steps signaled a beating. And even thought it had been about three years since his uncle had hit him, bursts of anger would bring his old fear back.

Harry jumped up into sitting position as he heard his uncle reach the door. It flew open with a bang and Vernon walked into the room. His face was still purple and his moustache quivered with anger.

"Boy," he growled out. Harry looked away, avoiding his eyes.

"Yes Uncle Vernon?" And because he'd been looking away Harry didn't see the hand that flew toward him and smacked him across the face.

"Look here Boy," Vernon strode towards him and grabbed the front of his shirt. Harry felt himself shoved, choking up against the wall. "You've been nothing but trouble since you arrived here. But we've tolerated you. And we had given up trying to beat the magic out of you, as long as it didn't touch us." Harry was smashed against the wall and felt his head bang roughly. "But the incident with Marge ended that. And after that you had the gall to come back here and threaten us with your lunatic godfather.

"Please Uncle Vernon!" Harry pleaded. "I didn't mean it like that!" Just please-" he was stopped when Vernon threw him to the floor.

"Don't you talk back to me boy!" Vernon yelled. And Harry felt the wind knocked out of him as a foot connected with his ribs. "We will beat this magic out of you!" Something cracked as the foot flew into Harry's ribs repeatedly and he felt blood pour from his mouth from the blows aimed to his head. Finally the kicks stopped coming and he heard his uncle say,

"Be downstairs in two minutes boy. If you're going to live here, you're going to earn it."

Harry forced his aching body to stumble down the stairs. He limped slowly into the kitchen where the Dursleys were. Neither Aunt Petunia nor Dudley said anything about his beaten appearance. He waited silently in the doorway, waiting for his instructions.

"Come here boy!" Uncle Vernon barked. Harry approached the table and was handed a sheet of paper. "Have these done by seven o'clock. That's when you'll be cooking dinner. " Harry looked at the list: was the cars, mow the lawn, prune the begonias, paint the garden bench, weed the garden, wash the windows and dust, sweep and vacuum the front hall and sitting room. Harry sighed,

"Yes Uncle Vernon," and he headed outside to begin his chores. He scrubbed at the two cars sitting in the driveway with soapy water before rinsing them off with water spouting from the hose. He trudged to the shed and pulled the lawn mower out. He pushed it back and forth across the lawn, the hot sun beating down on his back causing sweat to mix with blood and soak through his shirt. He pruned the begonias and painted the bench, covering himself in paint. As he pulled the weeds in the garden he felt his skin begin to burn. He scanned the garden once more for weeds before straightening up. He headed back to the shed and retrieved the ladder. He leant it against the house and picked up a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. He grimaced at the thought of climbing the ladder with his hurt leg, but knew that it had to be done. He climbed shakily up the ladder. Harry worked steadily leaving each window sparkling. But as he wiped the last window his injured leg slipped and he crashed down onto the walk. He pushed himself up, cradling his head and he heard the door open. He looked up to see his uncle approaching, purple in the face.

"What the ruddy hell do you think you're doing boy?" he whispered. "You've gone and got blood on the walk." He looked around at the other houses. "You'll deal with that tomorrow. Just get inside before somebody sees you." With a last look around he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him into the house, throwing him on the floor.

"It is now six forty-five." Uncle Vernon said. "I expect these two rooms spotless by seven o'clock or there will be consequences." And he turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen. Harry rubbed his eyes. He had fifteen minutes to have the hall and sitting room spotless. However it shouldn't be too hard, Aunt Petunia kept everything spotless anyway. But when Harry looked up he was horrified to see trash littering the floor, drinks spilled, bottles broken and sticky fingerprints coving the walls. He looked into the kitchen and his suspicions were confirmed when Dudley shot him a nasty grin. He felt the tears come to his eyes, but he shook them away. He hurried to pick up the trash, wipe the floor, scrub the walls, weep, vacuum and dust. He was hurrying into the sitting room when Uncle Vernon called out,

"Six fifty-five," Harry hurried around picking up trash. He was on his hands and knees scrubbing a stain out of the otherwise white carpet when a shadow fell over him and he was met with a kick to the side.

"You're not done yet boy." Vernon growled. Harry looked up at him,

"I-I'm sorry Uncle-" he was cut off with another kick.

"Finish and then cook. Remember there will be consequences." Harry shut his eyes and let out a sigh. He finished the sitting room and walked into the kitchen at seven twelve. He received no acknowledgement as he entered the room and immediately went to work cooking. A short time later he delivered dinner to the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon shot him a look,

"Go up to your room boy!" he barked and Harry hurried to comply.

Harry sat on his bed, thinking. Stepping off the train he'd felt confident that the Dursleys would leave him alone. But quite the opposite had happened. Should he send a letter to Ron or Hermione with Hedwig? Harry shook his head. His old self=hate was returning and he didn't want to burden them. Looking across the room he saw that it didn't really matter as there was now a padlock on her cage. He was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of footsteps mounting the steps. His door smashed open and he felt a meaty hand wrap around his neck and throw him to the floor. He heard a crack as a kick was aimed at his ribs and he felt his breath leave him. His uncle grabbed the front of his shirt, pinning him to the wall.

"We ask you to do a few simple chores for us, and we ask you to be on time for dinner, but you can't even do that!" Vernon growled, the last few words punctuated with Harry's head banging against the wall.

"We told you to be done by seven o'clock and you weren't, were you boy? Answer me!"

"N-no sir," Harry stammered. Uncle Vernon leaned in,

"What time was it boy?" he asked.

"Seven twelve, sir." Harry answered him. He had no warning before he was thrown to the ground again.

"Take your shirt off!" Vernon barked. Harry struggled to pull the shirt over his head. Vernon grabbed his arm and dragged him to the desk in the corner of the room. He bent Harry over the desk, pressing in behind him so that he couldn't move.

"I told you there would be consequences. Let's say, two lashes for every minute you were late." Vernon said. Harry turned his head and saw that Uncle Vernon was holding a belt in his hand .

""No, Uncle Vernon, please!" Harry whimpered.

"Quiet!" his uncle yelled. "You'll count." Harry heard the whistle of the whip and he felt it rip open his back.

"Count!" Vernon ordered.

"One," Harry whimpered.

"I can't hear you boy." His uncle taunted, another lash.

"Two, three…five, six…ten, eleven…fifteen…seventeen, eighteen…twenty four." Vernon backed away letting him fall to the floor.

"That should teach you."

Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm just manipulating them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Harry woke the next morning to find himself sprawled on the floor of his bedroom. His entire body ached and throbbed as a reminder of the beatings he'd received yesterday, and the ones he was likely to receive today. He could feel blood seeping from the wounds on his back, his left leg had a constant dull ache that would intensify once he moved and every breath resulted in a sharp pain from his ribs. He moved his arms slowly and pushed himself off the floor, wincing as his body screamed in protest the movement. He managed to sit up, breathing heavily at the effort and his ribs hurting with each breath. His leg, as he'd predicted, had not taken kindly to movement and was now throbbing with a more noticeable pain. Harry stiffened as he heard thundering footsteps coming up the stairs and his eyes fought to focus on the blur that was his door. His glasses had been lost sometime in the night, leaving him vulnerable to the world around him. However, a lack of glasses didn't stop him from seeing the door fly open with a bang or his uncle blast in.

"Boy," he growled, "you're running late." Harry's arms flew to cover his stomach in an effort to protect himself from the kick that he sensed coming. His ribs were spared the majority of the blow, but his hand ached with pain. Vernon reached down and grabbed Harry by the back of the neck, throwing him out the door. Harry crashed into the wall in the hallway, leaving a smear of blood from his back.

"Get downstairs boy! Or do I have to kick you down?" His voice was menacing, and Harry knew that he would have no qualms about kicking Harry anywhere, even down the stairs.

"But, my glasses, Uncle Vernon. And a-a shirt. I don't have-" He protested.

"You can work without your glasses boy, and without a shirt."

"What-what if the neighbors see?" His voice trembled as he spoke, no good could come from contradicting Vernon. And he was right. His uncle grabbed his arms, lifting him up against the wall.

"Are you trying to blackmail me boy? Are you trying to make me stop beating you?"

"N-no Uncle Vernon-" He was slammed against the wall.

"Because I won't stop. You deserve to be beaten. You are a freak, an ungrateful freak! You deserve this."

"I know," Harry's voice was soft. One small salty tear made it's way down his face. "I know."

Harry stood at the doorway to the kitchen, waiting for his instructions. Sitting at the kitchen table, he could see the large blur that was his cousin, and the smaller blur that was his aunt. His uncle was standing at the counter.

"You'll be working inside today," he said. "You'll clean the floor in here, after breakfast. Your aunt will give you a rag to work with. The upstairs hallway will be spotless, make sure you get all the blood off the wall. Clean the bathroom and Dudley's room. If you break anything, I'll flay you within an inch of your life."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." He turned and moved toward the foot of the stairs. The steps all blurred together, becoming one carpeted slope. He sighed, wincing at the pain in his ribs and began to stumble up the stairs. He reached the hall and reached a cautious hand out to the wall, feeling his way towards the bathroom. He bent down and pulled the cleaning materials out from under the sink. He reached for a rag and a bottle in front of him, praying it wouldn't ruin the wall, the words blurred together and were illegible. He felt his way back along the wall, feeling for the stickiness that would show his blood. He felt a substance beneath his fingers and he stopped. He sprayed the cleaner and began scrubbing at the walls, methodically feeling for the stickiness and scrubbing where he came upon it. He could still feel slow trickles of blood move down his back until they met the waist band of his jeans. When his fingers stopped finding blood, he felt his way back along the wall and into the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom he stopped. Without his glasses, he couldn't see what needed to be cleaned, without knowing what needed to be cleaned, he was bound to mess up. There was nothing to do though, Uncle Vernon wouldn't allow him to have his glasses, and he would notice if Harry tried to sneak back into his room and find them. There was nothing to do but work. He scrubbed the tub and the sinks. He did his best to neaten the counter and wipe it down. He reached over to clean the mirror, and scrubbed the floor, all the while struggling against his blurred vision.

"Boy!" his uncle bellowed up the stairs. "Come down and do the floor!" Harry scrambled to his feet, struggling to keep his balance. He kept a hand on the wall and he moved through the hall and climbed as quickly as he could down the stairs, hand never leaving the rail. As he reached the landing a hand wrapped around his upper arm and dragged through the downstairs hallway and thrown roughly onto the kitchen floor, nearly knocking over a bucket of water that he hit.

"I want the floor spotless, boy. Use that rag in front of you." Harry nodded without saying anything and reached out to feel for the rag. His hand touched on a frayed cloth and he picked it up soaking it in the water. His uncle left and Harry could hear his Aunt moving around the kitchen, wiping down the counter. He moved slowly and quietly through the kitchen, trying to sense which direction to move. As he scrubbed the floor, he thought. He'd never expected the summer to start like this. Ever since he'd started Hogwarts he'd been ignored by his closest relatives. They had always feared that he would hurt him, or that he was well protected. But when they were forced to see what could happen, when he blew up Aunt Marge, they ended that. Before he'd gone to Hogwarts he'd been beaten. He was told that the was a freak, he'd cleaned, he'd worked, he'd barely eaten and he'd lived in the cupboard. It had been a normal thing for him, and he'd always known that he deserved it, something that he'd forgotten while at Hogwarts. There, he'd been considered a hero by many and countless times he'd been praised for his actions. At Hogwarts, he was treated well by most, and he had friends, friends that he didn't deserve. He'd been reminded of that, it was something he'd forgotten.

Harry heard a shriek of horror and he felt himself crash into a pair of legs.

"Shit!" he thought, and visibly flinched. He knew what results that shriek could bring. Before his Aunt had said a word to him, his uncle's heavy footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. Harry could imagine him sticking his head around the doorway, mustache fluttering with each breath.

"What happened?" he asked Aunt Petunia.

"He, ah, he ran into me." Harry could feel a pair of eyes turn on him, and he could feel them glaring.

"Keep working boy," he growled. "And watch where you're going." Harry knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

Once he had cleaned the kitchen to his Aunt's satisfaction he stumbled up the stairs once again into Dudley's room. He could see the bulk that was his cousin sitting in front of his T.V. Harry didn't say anything, instead he just started to move carefully around the room, squinting at any objects he picked up and placing them on the appropriate shelves. Game controls had been thrown about, airplane models lay broken on the floor, figurines had been knocked over and fake rifles lay bent and broken around the room. Harry reached up to put the one whole, model airplane on a shelf when his shaking hand knocked against a glass figurine and it fell, shattering to pieces. This time he barely had time to flinch before Dudley had whipped around and was calling,

"Dad!" For the second time that day Harry heard his uncle's footsteps approaching and knew he would be punished even more harshly.

"Didn't I tell you not to break anything, boy?" Harry shut his eyes, trying to block out the blurred images.

"Yes, uncle Vernon."

"What did you break?" His voice was menacing.

"A glass figurine, sir."

"Did you really?" Harry felt a meaty hand on his injured back and he was pushed down to the ground, face grinding against the broken glass, he felt shards sticking into his skin, and kept his eyes closed in protection. "Get to your room, boy." Harry couldn't stand, so he crawled slowly out of his cousin's room, down the hallway and through the doorway of his own. His uncle followed him. A kick was aimed at him and he went flying head first toward the wall. Vernon aimed three kicks at Harry, catching him in the head, in the stomach and in between his legs. Harry curled up on the floor as best as he could, whimpering in pain.

"You just can't do anything right, can you?" Another kick. "Can you?" Tears poured down Harry's face,

"No Uncle Vernon." Harry winced as a knee landed on his injured back and he was forced to hold all of uncle's weight.

"I think three cuts should serve as a starting reminder." Harry felt the sharp blade of a knife, cut through his upper arm and warm blood running down to his wrist. He bit his lip, trying to hold back his cries of pain. He felt the knife again, between his shoulder blades, paralleling one of his welts from the night before. And then he felt a hand wrap into his hair and his head was yanked to the right as the knife carved a line in the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Harry's body shook with sobs as his uncle got to his feet again.

"Get a shirt on. Go clean the blood off the walk.

A/N: So, I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm super sorry. I'm going to say right now that I most likely won't update on a regular basis. I'll try and be better than four months though, but I can't promise anything. School started today and so I'll be pretty busy. Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers out there, if I didn't reply to your review, I'm really sorry, I appreciate every review I get. And even every story alert!

I have a few questions so if you could leave an answer in a review (wink wink) that would be great.

How much of Harry's summer with the Dursleys do you want? Of course a good amount of what he goes through needs to be in, but would you like me to go on an every few days thing, or would it bother you a lot if I skipped around some?

Do you have any suggestions for abuse doled out by the Dursleys? I'm open to ideas and I'd love to hear from the readers.

How do you think Aunt Petunia should be. She won't have a part in Harry being rescued, but should she be just as bad as Uncle Vernon or a little more sympathetic?

Thank you and again I'm really sorry, but you can't expect much from me!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I have absolutely no excuse. I know the last time I updated I said 'I'll try not to make it two months next time.' Well, now it's definitely been six months at least! I am so sorry, I will try to be better in the future although I make no promises.

On another note. I know that I deserve no favors from you, but I have the audacity to ask anyway. One of my friends and I have recently started a character forum, based on an Equestrian Center. If you could click on the link and check it out (or even join) that would be awesome. But like I said, you owe me nothing because I've been so so bad about updating. If you would like to stop by, this is the link: .com/Old_Mill/index

Here's the next chapter!

Harry had a fever when he woke the next morning. And he hurt, all over. He had an awful feeling that it went further than the beatings. He was getting sick. And he wasn't sure that he could hold off the sickness with the beaten condition of his body and mind.

There was a series of sharp raps on his door and he opened bleary eyes. That wasn't Uncle Vernon. He didn't knock and not like that. That knock had a distinctly Aunt Petunia sound to it. Since the beatings had started he had seen less and less of Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon and Dudley had been the main instigators of his torture. The sharp knocks sounded again.

"I'm coming," he croaked. His throat didn't seem to be working. He wasn't surprised. Petunia wasn't either. He heard his door creak open as he felt around for his glasses. He turned his head so that he could see the blurry outline of his aunt in a bright dress and apron. He felt something pressed into his hand.

"Drink," she said sharply. He didn't move. "Now. Drink." Harry raised the glass to his lips and drank. Water. It was water.

"Thank you," he said. His throat felt better. He still ached, but he hadn't had water in days. His aunt sniffed in response.

"Now, get up. You have chores to do." He heard her quick, hurried steps leaving the room and the door clicking shut. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, feeling, every cut, bruise and possible break move and ache, making him groan. Once he was on his feet he steadied himself against the wall, listening carefully. The house was mostly quiet. He could hear Aunt Petunia moving around in the kitchen below, but the grumblings of Uncle Vernon and the loud bangs that accompanied Dudley were absent. Convinced that they had left the house for at least a little while, he stumbled around his bloody bedroom searching for his glasses. He didn't want to risk upsetting Aunt Petunia, but he couldn't make it through another day without his glasses.

His legs wouldn't support him as he moved away from the wall and he fell clumsily, collapsing onto the floor. As he felt the sting of the wooden floor travel through his body, he became aware of a thin piece of metal, pressing painfully into his boney wrist. Wincing he reached to grab onto the metal with his right hand. His glasses. Sighing quietly, he put them on, relieved as his room came into focus once more. Climbing clumsily to his feet, he stumbled towards the door, balancing on his ruined bed. He moved slowly down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen.

"Walk on the newspaper!" his aunt snapped as he reached the doorway. He looked down to see the floor had already been cleaned and he stepped carefully onto the paper. "Here!" He looked up to see a plate with half of a banana being thrust at him. "Eat this!" He reached out to take the plate slowly, wondering if it would be snatched away. It had been days since he had last eaten, would she actually allow him food? Petunia must have seen his suspicious looks because she said,

"Nobody else wants it. And if I throw it away half the neighborhood will be talking about how wasteful we are by next week." Harry took the plate and bit into the banana. He had never been fond of bananas, the taste had always been too strong for him. But, now, having gone days without any food, nothing could have been more welcome than that banana. He finished the fruit quickly and his aunt snatched the plate from him, rinsing it and placing it in the dishwasher. He waited patiently for his aunt to speak.

"We have ivy growing on our trees in the back," his aunt told him. "Clear it away!" Harry nodded and walked through the back door into the shade of the trees. He opened the shed and found a pair of shears, before limping over to one of the trees.

He worked diligently, cutting the ivy at the bottom and pulling it away from the tree where it had attached itself. He was constantly aware of his aunt watching him from the kitchen window. Eyes watching for a single mistake. Still, it was better than having Uncle Vernon around. She left him to work and while he still ached and wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the cool grass and sleep until his wounds had healed, he knew that with Uncle Vernon it would have been a constant beating.

Harry was to quickly learn not to grow too comfortable with only his aunt watching. She gave him water and that half of a banana and she didn't beat him. But comfort will easily lead to mistakes. And when injured, starved and weak, comfort will lead to sleep. At some point his aunt's eyes left him as she went to neaten her own bedroom. Harry soon relaxed, knowing that his aunt was no longer watching his every mood. The grass beneath his knees was cool and the sun was beating down from above, leaving the air perfectly warm. The flowers, were leaving a sweet smell in the air from only a few yards away. And with every passing moment Harry's eyes were dragged shut.

When Harry woke he didn't have a chance to think about the sun warming his battered back, or the cool grass against his face. He didn't wake slowly to think about the natural smells of grass and flowers overpowering his senses. He didn't wake up to the birds chirping above him, in the tree he had recently been saving from ivy. He woke to the sound of a bull roar. The angry roar of his uncle and a kick in the ribs.

"BOY!" The yell reverberated in his ears. "What the hell do you think you're doing! We feed you, we shelter you! And you sleep on the job!" Another kick. Harry was gasping for breath, holding his ribs and coughing desperately. Vernon aimed a kick at his face, getting him square in the mouth. Harry opened his mouth and screamed, trying not to asphyxiate himself on the blood pouring down his throat. Petunia appeared at the doorway,

"Vernon!" she whispered across the back lawn. "The neighbors! They'll hear him." Vernon stopped his kicking and reached down to rip a glove off of Harry's hand. He shoved it harshly into his mouth, successfully gagging him.

"You stay quiet and finish your work, boy!" he said harshly. And he snatched up the pair of shears. "And you can do the ivy without these!"

Harry collapsed on his bed, feeling the blood oozing from his wounds and soak his bed sheets. Through the night silence he heard a familiar sound. The beating of wings. He turned his head to look at Hedwig's cage. Still locked. She was there. He heaved himself, groaning to his feet. Could it just be wishful thinking? They were hurried wing beats. He squinted, peering into the darkness and gasped, throwing the window open, just in time to keep a miniature owl from smashing into the glass. It was Ron's owl that Sirius had given him. The owl swooped around his room, obviously proud of it's successful delivery.

"Shhh," Harry said desperately. "The Dursleys can't hear you. They would kill me! Please be quiet." The owl quieted down and settled on his bed side table as Harry opened the letter, smiling painfully at Ron's familiar scrawl.

Harry,

Dad got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! The World Cup! You've got to come with us! Mum and Dad figured that it was best to ask the muggles first. They should get a letter by muggle post. If they say 'yes', we'll pick you up Sunday. If they say 'no' we'll pick you up Sunday.

Ron.

Harry bit his lip in thought. A letter in the morning post? He winced, thinking of the reaction that the Dursleys would have. And the beating he could get. Could he dare ask them?

A/N 2: I know it wasn't very long. But I will try to update soon (no real promises) and I'll try (again about the promise) to make it longer. Review?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They all belong to the lovely and wonderful JKR.

Author's note: Feel free to skip this. You would not believe how sorry I am that I haven't updated in a century or so. But you don't really want to read that and I never said I would be a good updater.

The letter from Ron brought Harry a feeling of reluctant relief. By Sunday he would be free of the Dursleys and their abuse. But his time at Privet drive had led him to believe that he had no chance of escaping his torture. He didn't dare ask the Dursleys for permission to leave. Thus far he had avoided any mention of the wizarding world, knowing that it would only anger them further and he could not risk that.

He turned to look at Pig, who was being abnormally quiet. It was almost as though he knew that any sound he made would become a beating for Harry.

"Sorry Pig," Harry whispered to the tiny owl. "I can't let you into Hedwig's cage this time. I can't even let her out." The owl remained silent, but fluttered over to perch on top of the locked cage as Harry contemplated the letter before him. He couldn't bring himself to lie outright to his closest friend. But asking the Dursleys was out of the question. Harry glanced at the clock he repaired and felt the pain return to his body threefold. He ought to sleep while he could and he would answer Ron's message in the morning.

Harry awoke the next morning to a sharp blow to the head and the sound of his uncle barking orders at him.

"Boy! Up, now!" Fear led Harry to scramble out of bed ignoring the sharp and aching pains that made up his body. He snatched his glasses off the bedside table and shoved them on his face with the hope that he wouldn't be forced to operate without them again. But, before he made it out the bedroom door he was forced to stumble to a halt as he saw his ruddy faced uncle blocking the door. He froze and looked at his uncle, unsure as to what was expected of him in order to avoid another rib cracking, bone breaking, fierce beating.

"Head down, boy." Vernon growled, beady eyes narrowed. Harry quickly averted his eyes to floor and waited for what would come next. His body tensed as he waited for a blow that he wouldn't be able to see coming and he was forced to use all of his willpower to keep his head down and eyes averted.

"You may not look any of the family in the eye unless you are instructed." And a sharp kick to his leg brought Harry to his knees before his uncle. Harry remained on his knees, eyes to the ground until his uncle spun on his heel and left Harry in the doorway. Harry counted to five under his breath, eyes still turned to the floor before he scrambled after his uncle to begin making breakfast.

Harry slid plates filled with bacon, eggs and hashed browns onto the kitchen table for his aunt, uncle and cousin. Eyes still downcast he slipped quietly behind the counter and began to scrub the pans clean. As Uncle Vernon dug through his breakfast, bits of egg catching in his mustache the doorbell rang. He heaved himself to his feet, grumbling about unexpected callers and made his way to the door. Harry heard a low rumble of voices and Vernon's gruff laugh before the door clicked shut again. Harry heard the thump of approaching footsteps and tensed as he felt his uncle appear behind him, purple face swelling with rage. A meaty hand grabbed Harry by the hair and threw him forcefully into the hallway, kicking him into living room. Harry landed on his hands and knees and froze, eyes focusing on the patterned carpet.

"Who do you think that was, boy?" Vernon's voice was deadly quiet, threatening terrible events.

"I don't know, sir." Harry said, voice shaking. A foot slammed on the middle of Harry's back and he crashed to the floor, the breath leaving him in a painful gust.

"Like hell you don't." An envelope was shoved in front of Harry's face. It was covered in colorful stamps, not only in the corner, but all over the front. And the Dursley's address was written in cramped handwriting in the center, the only place not cluttered with stamps.

"It was the mailman. He wanted to know about this letter, he thought it was funny." Harry didn't say anything, not knowing what to say to avoid a beating. More weight was put on his already injured body. "Do you know what the letter says, boy?"

"No, sir." It was getting hard to breath. His ribs weren't taking the strain well, they had been cracked from the previous beatings and his uncle was forcing all of his weight on him.

_Crack_. Vernon stomped on his back.

"It was from those freaks of yours. They want you to come and stay for the rest of the summer. How do they know where we live, boy?"

"I'm sorry! I don't know! I'm sorry!" Harry cried out, desperate to get rid of the pain. A swift kick, directly to the ribs. Then, everything fell silent. Harry's eyes remained shut, not daring to look and see what his uncle was doing. His body tensed waiting for a blow to come.

"You don't deserve to go to them, boy. You don't deserve to be loved." Harry said nothing, knowing that silence was the best option. The safest path.

"Let him go, Vernon," A voice said from the doorway. Harry's eyes almost opened in shock at the sound of his aunt's voice. "Let him go to the freaks. I'm tired of having to deal with him in my house." At these words Harry allowed his eyes to slowly open. He must be mistaken, but he thought he saw a flash of something in his aunt's eyes. Something that might be beneficial to him.

"You'll go then, boy. We'll be rid of you on Sunday." Harry was hauled to his feet and his uncle dragged him by the back of his shirt to the foot of the stairs. "Don't think that this means you won't be getting the beatings you deserve, boy." And he was thrown up the stairs. "You'll do the attic today."

That night his uncle came to his room, knife in hand. "I told you that you'll get the beatings you deserve, and you will. But, we don't want those freaks getting the wrong idea." As Harry stood, frozen in fear and confusion, Vernon slowly rolled up his left sleeve and sliced a thin cut around Harry's arm. He repeated the action on his right arm.

"There," he sneered as Harry cried out, blood running down his arms, "now we have our boundaries." Harry's shirt was torn from his body and before he left Vernon cut a single word into his nephew's beaten back, freak.

I don't deserve it, but you could review for me! Know that every time you do and I haven't updated I feel a stab of guilt and writing and updating jumps higher on my priority list.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If you _are_ looking for the lovely lady who owns the characters and places turn to JKR.

Authors Note: I'm almost afraid to post again so soon. I don't want you to think this is going to be a regular thing…because then I would be getting your hopes up (I'm assuming that you really care when I say this) and then yanking them from under you. You should take into account that I'm college touring over spring break, staying in hotels and really don't want to study for the SATs. And it's mostly filler.

Sunday came as a welcome relief for Harry. The beatings hadn't stopped, but the visible bruises on his arms had faded away and cuts had scabbed over. He still felt knife sharp stabs of pain in his side every time that he dared draw a breath. And putting any weight on his leg was unbearable, but he dared not limp. Underneath his shirt his skin was riddled with yellowing bruises, fresh bruises, lashes and other wounds. But he put on a brave face, just as he did every time he prepared to enter the wizarding world.

One could almost say that there were two Harry Potters that must be taken into account. The one who feels worthless and truly believes that he deserves the treatment from his relatives. The one who dares not fight back. The other Harry Potter is the one that witches and wizards have come to know. He is guarded, but strong. What else could be expected from the Boy who Lived? And then fought his way through various obstacles at age eleven in order to save the Sorcerer's Stone, killed a basilisk at age twelve and fought off hundreds of dementors at age thirteen. Yes, Harry Potter was strong. But it would be unreasonable to suggest that he didn't carry the abuse from his relatives over to the wizarding world. Only that he hid it well and did what he did best, put others first.

Sunday morning was a loud one at the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole. In fact, most mornings were loud ones at the Burrow. However, this morning was exceptionally clamorous. Not only were all seven Weasley children back in the house, Bill and Charlie both taking advantage of their time off to join their family at the World Cup, but one of Ron's best friends, Hermione Granger, was with them and preparations were being made to pick up his other best friend, Harry Potter.

As the eldest Weasley siblings, Bill and Charlie were not used to feeling out of the loop on anything. However, as of yet, they were the only Weasleys who had not met the famous Boy who Lived. They were, of course, aware that their youngest brother had befriended Harry during his first year at Hogwarts. And they had a sneaking suspicion that they didn't know everything that their brother had been through since he'd been friends with Harry. The entire family had been suspiciously tight lipped about Ginny's first year, although both Bill and Charlie had gotten shaky, teary, messages from their mother only to be counteracted a few hours later by short, relieved letters from their father. So they, like most of the wizarding world, felt a great anticipation at meeting Harry Potter, and wanted to know, quite simply, what to expect.

They had immediately tried asking Ron. Charlie sat on the couch polishing a pair of boots while Bill engaged Ron in a game of chess. While contemplating how to protect his Queen from Ron's bishop and rook he asked,  
"So Ron, what's Harry like?" Ron didn't even give the question any thought.

"He's just Harry." Perfect.

Ron won that game. And his response brought about a type of admiration for their youngest brother. Surely, in a world filled with admiring fans, it was a sign of their true, binding, friendship that Ron could honestly say the Boy who Lived was just Harry.

They'd tried asking Hermione Granger, once she had arrived. She had looked at them over the top of her book and said very primly that "Harry wasn't as conscientious about his school work as he ought to be." And that was that.

Ginny had given them a more appropriate reaction. She was in raptures about everything that had to do with Harry Potter. Although, she blushed and stammered as she told them, never making eye contact with her older brothers. Yet Ron assured them with a roll of his eyes that this was a great improvement on the past summers.

And so, when Bill and Charlie Weasley found themselves alone in the sitting room with their younger twin brothers, they looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders as if to say 'why not?'. The twins were a bit of a last resort. Very rarely did either Fred or George say something to be taken seriously. But they didn't dare ask Percy. Because he refused to talk of anything other than his new job and Mr. Crouch and because no matter what he said they would probably laugh, and Molly Weasley could change from motherly to terrifying faster than you could say Merlin.

Bill and Charlie had just finished a game of Exploding Snap. Charlie's nose was suspiciously black and the end of Bill's long hair was singed. Fred and George sat in a corner of the room, whispering to each other and making notes on a long sheet of parchment. Glancing to make sure no one else was around Charlie spoke up,

"Fred, George!" They both grunted noncommittally. "What's he like?" They glanced up from their parchment.

"Who?"

"Harry Potter," Bill filled in. Fred and George exchanged glances.

"He's small." One of them said, it seemed to be Fred according to the freckle on the tip of his nose, George's was off center.

"And quiet," George added. They went back to their parchment. Bill and Charlie looked at each other. Small and quiet? Bill opened his mouth to say something before one of the twins spoke again, his nose out of view.

"Don't touch him."

"What?" That was from Charlie.

"He doesn't like to be touched. Only Ron and Hermione can _really_ get away with it."

"What does he do if you touch him?" You could almost sense a twin rolling their eyes.

"He doesn't _do_ anything. But you can tell he doesn't like it. And you can't come away from clapping him on the shoulder without feeling like you're an awful person who deserves to be trampled by Hippogriffs."

Bill and Charlie Weasley almost gave up on their family right then. Who would believe a time would come when the twins were the most helpful.

Harry couldn't help the twinge of fear that he felt as he went spinning through the floo system. Maybe, just maybe, something would happen so that the Dursleys would forget about the tongue incident before next summer. What a beating.

He spun onto the floor of the Burrow and was quickly pulled to his feet by Ron. Fred was hovering over his shoulder.

"Did he eat it?" he asked excitedly. Harry threw a grin on his face and nodded.

"Yeah, what was that thing?"

"Ton tongue toffee, George and I have been working on them this summer. We needed someone to test them."

"Well his tongue was huge and purple. It was disgusting." Harry turned to where Fred had gestured towards George and found him sitting at a table with two red heads that Harry had never met before. They stood and Harry realized that they must be the eldest Weasley brothers, Bill and Charlie. Charlie was short, like Fred and George, and had a warm and cheerful air. Harry picked him out based on the burns on his shoulder and forearm, that pointed to dragon tamer. The burn on his right palm looked like he'd missed the handle of the kettle. That meant that the taller one was Bill. And from his dragon hide boots to his dragon fang earring and long hair pulled back into a ponytail there was one word for Bill Weasley and that was cool. Harry felt warm. Not like he was blushing, but like his blood was thrumming through him at an increased rate. But, he wasn't too worried, it was summer after all.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said. Bill and Charlie looked surprised at that. Harry wasn't sure why. Ron waved his hand vaguely and said to them,

"Just pretend like I introduced you. Clearly, everyone knows who everyone else is."

"Nice to meet you too," Charlie said. And Bill nodded in agreement, his eyes focused on Harry.

Fred and George came out of the fireplace first, with Harry's trunk. George joined them at the table while Fred paced back and forth, clearly awaiting news of some prank. The twins rarely worried about anything else. He just barely managed to dodge out of the way when Ron came flying from the fireplace and then there was just the one person that they were waiting to meet.

Harry Potter spun onto the floor and was immediately taken over by Ron and Fred. Bill paid little attention to the conversation. Partially because he had learned early on that the less you knew about Fred and George's pranks the better. And partially because something else had caught his eye, something on Harry's arm. When Ron pulled Harry up from the ground, Harry's shirt sleeve had slipped back quickly. And to anyone who was paying attention, namely Bill Weasley, a slice and the beginnings of a bruise appeared before being covered once more. And no one was any the wiser.

Fred and George had been right, Harry was small. He was shorter than Ron, shorter than Fred and George. And yet, he didn't seem weak or delicate. He struck Bill as a perfectly innocent fourteen year old boy. Yet there was something…enticing about him despite his size and his age. Or maybe it had a little something to do with his size. His ebony hair was wild and his bright green eyes were passionate. Bill couldn't bring himself to say anything in response to Harry's greeting, merely nodding along with Charlie. Here was the hero, the Boy Who Lived, small and quiet. And yet, Bill was being completely honest when he told himself he wasn't disappointed. Not in the least.

Since I'm being so nice and responsible you should leave me a review! Also, I just posted a Harry/Charlie oneshot called Something to Remember. I'd love it if y'all could check that out as well.


	6. Chapter 6

FF has been giving me some trouble over this chapter…so sorry if it's been causing you problems!

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I probably don't own it.

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Harry, Ron and Hermione were outside when Bill and Charlie came to set up the tables for dinner. They stopped to watch the eldest Weasleys battle the tables in the air until Percy complained about the noise. Ron rolled his eyes at his third oldest brother.

"The only time that I'm convinced that he's actually related to anyone in the family is when Bill starts talking about the technical parts of curse breaking." Ron said.

"I'm sure they both have very interesting things to say," Hermione reprimanded quickly. "You could learn a lot from them if you would just pay attention. Percy is doing well at the Ministry and curse breaking sounds fascinating.."

"Yeah, it sounds fascinating, when the only words you hear are 'curse breaker'. Once you get into the details it can be like listening to Binns go on about the goblin wars. And all Percy does is talk about his cauldron bottoms report. _That_ is not interesting in the least."

"Percy's just starting, Ron." Hermione told him. "I'm sure it will get more interesting the longer he works. And you can't try to say that there aren't some interesting and exciting aspects to curse breaking." Ron huffed in annoyance.

"I'm sure there are, but Bill doesn't talk about the interesting things because Mum is always nearby. And really who wants to hear the inside news on disabling a locked door."

"I can see the appeal," Harry murmured looking around him. They were walking along a small pathway in the woods. The path was strewn with leaves and branches from the past storms and as the walked Harry's leg rolled over a stick lying across the path. He winced as his already injured leg twinged.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"'Course I am." He responded quickly.

"You just winced. Did you hurt yourself." She could be a tad overbearing sometimes.

"I got in a bit of a fight with my cousin this summer. It just twinges a bit." He lied easily. It was believable. It was also believable that he lost to his whale of a cousin.

"Oh Harry," Hermione sighed. "I wish that you wouldn't always end up in such trouble. Couldn't you just get along with your cousin or at least try not to antagonize him."

"I don't try to antagonize him Hermione! He tries to turn me into a human punching bag."

"Leave off, Hermione!" Ron broke in. "His cousin seems like a git anyway, like he could use a bit of a beating. And you know that his family can be awful! Apparently Fred and George got him with one of their sweets when we went to pick Harry up. I wish I could have seen that."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "What would your father say? He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and loves muggles and his children are playing pranks on them and saying they deserve to be beaten!"

"Hermione, calm down. I don't think all muggles should be pranked and beaten. Just Harry's cousin. I'm assuming that Harry didn't do anything to piss him off."

"Well you can't make assumptions like that! Everything would work out a lot better if people just made the effort not to bother others."

"I think that's a two person process!"

As the argument escalated in volume, Harry began to creep away from his best friends. He really loved them and didn't know what he would do without them, but when they got arguing he preferred to disappear. Especially after this past summer, he had begun to connect raised voices with abuse from his uncle. He knew that Ron and Hermione weren't going to hurt him…and he knew that Hermione truly wanted what was best for him. He just hadn't told her as much about his relatives. As he approached the pond he reflected back on one of the true heart to heart conversations he'd had with Ron.

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Ron had collapsed on his bed grousing about some antics of the twins. Harry listened as Ron complained, although he never quite grasped the exact emotions. He'd never had a family in the way that Ron did.

"Sometimes I just wish that I was an only child!" Ron exclaimed. "Every time I turn around their causing some kind of trouble that just causes me pain!" Harry didn't say anything, not knowing how to respond. Ron looked over to him,

"I don't suppose you'd want them, mate?" Harry let a smile fall onto his face.

"I'd love to have a family like yours, Ron." He said. Normally, he wasn't so blatantly honest, but he felt a need to impart on Ron just how lucky he was. "I mean, you all get annoyed, but you all do love each other and when it comes down to it you'll be there for each other. I don't have a family like that. You are Hermione are the closest I've got." Ron rolled on his side and looked at Harry.

"What about your aunt, uncle and cousin?" He asked. "I mean…I know you aren't really close and they aren't magic. But don't they count at all?" Harry sighed. They had never discussed his home life before, not in this way. They were normally so caught up in school and their yearly adventures that there was simply never time. And Harry had always been so interested in hearing about Ron's family that his own never came up.

"They don't like me." He said honestly. "At all. They don't like magic either…I can't even say the word in the house without them getting upset. It's gotten better since my Hogwarts letter came." Or tried to come…but that was not truly the point. "They gave me a room then." Ron looked incredulous.

"Gave you a room? What did you have before?" Harry winced. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd have to answer that question.

"I lived in the cupboard under the stairs." Ron's mouth fell open in shock. "It wasn't too bad." He lied. "There just wasn't much room."

"What about the room you have now? Where was it before?"

"I mean, it was there. It was just a type of storage…for Dudley's extra stuff." Ron didn't say anything else about the room but collapsed back onto the bed.

"Well you know what? You're right. I won't give the twins away…but you can share them. All of them…although I give you the right to refuse Percy if you want to…I don't think you'll notice the difference.

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So Ron understood a little more than Hermione. He knew about the cupboard, he knew that his aunt and uncle hated him, he knew that Dudley had everything he wanted. He didn't know about the abuse before Hogwarts and he wouldn't know about the abuse this summer. Harry just couldn't bring himself to mention it. Besides, what could Ron do? Tell his family? The Weasleys had already done so much for him that to mention anything would be to burden them. And besides that abuse had almost ingrained itself in his mind as a fact of his life…something that he deserved.

Harry was so lost in thought that he didn't realize that there was someone else out by the pond. In fact, he didn't realize they were there until he walked right into them. Harry flushed as he found himself staring up into Bill Weasley's face.

"Sorry," he said quietly, trying to force the blush from his face.

"Not a problem," Bill said easily. "You looked like you were thinking hard."

"Just not paying attention," Harry said. It was generally considered suspicious to think hard over summer break…unless you were Hermione Granger.

"All alone?"

"Ron and Hermione are arguing."

"I heard," Bill smirked. "You won't stay as a mediator?" Harry became wary the moment that Bill said he'd heard the argument, but perhaps he hadn't heard what they were arguing about.

"It wouldn't do any good. Reason tends to get lost between the yelling. It's best for me to deal with it after the fact."

"Do they argue about your family often?" Harry immediately threw his guard up, suspicious of where the conversation was going.

"Not often. It doesn't come up in conversations frequently. It's normally study habits or insensitivity." That wasn't a too obvious attempt to change the subject. Bill might go for it.

"Ron can be like that sometimes. So, they only argue about your family when you get into a fight with your cousin?" Bill was not so subtle.

"I suppose. There isn't really a meaning to their madness." Bill could see the wariness shining in Harry's eyes. Those eyes were much prettier when they weren't so worried. Or he knew they would be…even when he had first arrived his eyes had been clouded.

"Does your cousin manage to hit you in the neck on a regular basis?" Bill asked, reaching out a hand to brush a hand over a yellowing bruise peeking out from the neck of Harry's shirt. Harry shivered at the touch.

"I ducked and he missed." The feel of Bill's fingers ghosting over his neck was bringing the blush back.

"I can't imagine why he would want to fight with you…you seem very polite." There was a look in Bill's eyes that Harry couldn't place and he couldn't seem to make his mouth form words. Not that he was succeeding in coming up with a response. He was saved when Mrs. Weasley's voice was heard faintly from the house,

"Come inside for dinner!"

"I'd…I'd best go get Ron and Hermione," Harry said. "They won't have heard her." Bill simply smiled and nodded in response.

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During dinner Harry found himself seated between Ron and Hermione and directly across from Bill. Harry mostly stayed quiet, listening to the conversation around him. Percy was going on about his cauldron bottom reports while Charlie talked about the World Cup. Across from him, Mrs. Weasley was going on about the length of Bill's hair, trying to convince him to a haircut.

"What do you think, Harry?" He jumped as Mrs. Weasley whipped around to address him. Caught off guard, Harry could do no more than to gape for a moment before he weakly said,

"Lovely chicken, Mrs. Weasley." And he took another bite so that he wasn't required to respond.

"Oh, thank you, dear!" Mrs. Weasley gushed. "You're always so sweet! But you are far too thin, dear. We need to fatten you up, I don't know what your relatives have been feeding you!" Harry shot a quick glare at Bill, hoping that he appreciated Harry's sacrifice. Because he knew that he would have more food piled on his plate than he could possibly ingest.

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Bill was quiet as he helped his mother clear the dishes from the table, he was thinking about Harry. His brother's friend had said some _very_ interesting things during their conversation out by the pond. And most of it had revealed more than he knew Harry wanted it to.

There had been a girl in the year above Bill at Hogwarts. They weren't good friends, but they could recognize each other. She was the only Gryffindor in her family, everyone else had been in Slytherin. Harry reminded him of that girl. There were questions surrounding her, as well. Every year she would come to school and keep mostly to herself. She answered questions that were asked of her and her eyes too had been clouded. She didn't come back after Easter of Bill's fifth year. She had just disappeared…and no one knew where she went, or no one told Bill.

And then there were the bruises peeking out from Harry's overly large shirt. A fight with his cousin made some sense, although Bill really couldn't see why anyone would choose to fight Harry. And it didn't quite account for the cut just inside his shirt sleeve that Bill had seen. He couldn't have gotten that in a fight. Unless his cousin was attacking him with a knife…and even then it was too precise. Bill dried his hands and wandered into the sitting room where Fred and George were wreaking havoc with a set of gobstones and Ginny was flipping through a book.

Charlie walked into the room not long after.

"Hey, what happened to Dad's car?" he whispered, not wanting Mrs. Weasley to overhear.

"Ron flew it into the Whomping Willow and it went to live in the Forbidden Forest." George said as he chucked a stone at Fred's head.

"What?" Bill and Charlie said at the same time.

"His second year a mad house elf blocked him and Harry from getting onto the platform so they flew the car to Hogwarts and into the Whomping Willow."

"But Mum didn't know that it could fly!" Charlie said.

"She knew," Ginny said from her spot on the floor. "Ron, Fred and George flew it to go and get Harry earlier in the summer." Fred and George were now the center of attention.

"Why?" They shrugged.

"He wasn't answering Ron's letters. Ron was worried."

"Was there a reason to be worried?" Bill asked. The twins glanced at each other.

"Could have been. He wasn't hurt. Just lonely and thin." There was more. Bill and Charlie knew without asking that the twins knew more.

"There were bars on his windows," Fred said. "So that he couldn't get out, couldn't send mail…couldn't get mail."

"We had to pick the lock to get out of his room," George added. "It was bolted from the outside. And there was a cat flap put into the door for food to go through."

Yes. There was a reason to be worried.

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Bill fell asleep on the couch, reading a report on a recently uncovered pyramid. He was woken in the early hours of the morning by the sound of a creaking floorboard. He stirred awake and groaned, cracking his neck. And the movement that had been coming from the kitchen stilled. Bill rubbed his eyes and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Harry?" he asked.

"Sorry," Harry whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Are you alright?" Bill's concern shone through his voice.

"Fine," Harry answered, rubbing his scar absently. "I was just going to get a drink."

"Couldn't sleep?" Bill asked, his eye having been caught by a wince.

"Just a dream," Harry said. And then he seemed to realize that he had been rubbing his scar and dropped his hand to his side. "Nothing to worry about."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bill asked, dropping into one of the chairs surrounding the table. With six younger siblings Bill knew how to talk about bad dreams…and Harry was such a mystery.

"You don't have to," Harry said quickly. "I really didn't mean to wake anyone. I didn't realize you were down here."

"Fell asleep reading a report on a new pyramid, not the most lively material. But I don't mind. It'll probably help you get back to sleep." Harry said nothing, simply sipping his glass of water and staring down at the floor. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Go on," Bill said, pulling a chair out with his foot. Harry dropped into it almost without thinking and continued to avoid Bill's gaze. "Does it mean something when your scar hurts?" Bill asked.

"Sometimes," Harry responded absently before shooting a sharp look to Bill. His guard was back up.

"What did you dream about Harry?" Bill kept his voice soft, trying not to send him running back upstairs. Harry's eyes shot around the room looking for an escape. Finding none he reluctantly answered,

"Just Voldemort and some followers," he said. "Nothing too important." Bill winced slightly at the name, but otherwise didn't react.

"What were they doing?" he asked.

"You know…plotting to kill…someone." Harry didn't dare say "me". That would only make him sound overly worried and bring far more concern and attention than he thought necessary.

"Who?" Of course he would ask.

"Doesn't matter," Harry answered quickly. Bill let it pass, having a fair idea, but knowing that pushing would do no good.

"Anything else?" Harry focused, the dream was slipping away from him quickly now that he was awake.

"They mentioned Hogwarts…it was about a competition. They called it a…a tournament. Yeah, a tournament that was going on at Hogwarts." He clicked his tongue between his teeth, not noticing that Bill tensed at the subject. "T-t-tri something. Triwizard? I think that was it…but I didn't understand what they were talking about. "

"And the dream made your scar hurt?" Harry shrugged.

"I suppose. It happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about."

"Will you tell Ron and Hermione about your dream." Harry leaned back in the chair, wincing slightly, something that Bill noticed.

"I don't think so. Hermione will just tell me to owl Dumbledore or Pomfrey and read a book in the mean time. And Ron will worry."

"Would he have a reason to worry?" Bill asked, thinking back to what the twins had said earlier. Ron had been worried when Harry hadn't answered his letters. Harry ignored the question and simply said,

"I don't want to worry them over nothing." They sat in silence for a few moments before Bill stood and said,

"Why don't you head back up to sleep. It's going to be a busy few days and you'll want some rest." Harry stood as well, noting in the back of his mind just how much taller Bill was. And wondering, rather inappropriately he thought, what Bill slept in. He shook his head slightly and looked back up at Bill.

"Course," he said. "Thanks."

"It's no problem, Harry" his voice was warm.

Neither of them slept when they returned to their rooms. Harry penned a letter to Sirius. Pettigrew had been one of the followers and Sirius might know more about the specifics than Bill did. And Bill sat awake for hours, thinking about everything that Harry had told him. There was too much accurate information for that to have been simply a dream. But was there truly something to worry about?

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A/N: So I switched some things around to make them fit the story better, I don't know how closely I'm going to follow the books. What do y'all think of some extra protection in the form of some curse breakers **coughBillcough** at the tournament?

Again don't count on regular updates. But my muse _is_ returning to me…so maybe (just maybe) it'll be better than nine months. I love reviews! (and alerts and favorites and the like!)

Also I've posted another Harry/Charlie oneshot (PWP) called an Early Morning Firecall, so it would be great if you could check that out!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So I put Chapter 6 up in March. So it's definitely only been 1 month…not 13. Not at all. To be fair I never promised that I was good at this. Apologies. Someone asked me to go into more detail about Harry's leg injury. As I went back to look over previous chapters I realized that in a fit of literary genius I never gave a reason for his leg injury. So, there will be an explanation…in another chapter.

When Barty Crouch went into work the first thing that he found was a stack of mail waiting on his desk. Meetings, questions, complaints, _more_ paperwork but there was one that interested him the most, if only because it needed to be handled quickly:

_Barty, _

_ There have been some concerns about safety during the tournament this year. Need to set up extra security for Hogwarts. You know the best aurors and some curse breakers wouldn't hurt either. I've got a list of potentials: _

_Wright McGregor_

_Vulcan Anderson _

_Melitta Geeds _

_Rosemary Nottingham_

_Bill Weasley _

_Yours_

Crouch didn't know whom it was from and he didn't really care. He was responsible for ensuring that the tournament ran smoothly and extra security was always beneficial. He quickly set about sending owls to the auror department and Gringotts. Bill Weasley ate breakfast with a smirk on his face.

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When Harry and Ron stumbled downstairs the next morning they were met with a table full of breakfast food. Hermione was already sitting at the table with a book propped up in front of her. Ron collapsed in a chair and began eating without a word, reaching across Bill for the sausages and almost knocking Charlie's pumpkin juice across the table.

"Good morning to you too, Ron," Ginny grumbled. Harry sat down quietly between Ron and Hermione and spooned a small portion of eggs onto his plate.

"Good morning Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Did you sleep well, dear?" Harry swallowed his mouthful quickly,

"Yes, thank you." He glanced automatically at Bill, almost expecting to see the man looking his way. But Bill, like a true Weasley, seemed to be completely engrossed in his breakfast.

"What are you all planning for today?" Molly asked as she bustled about the kitchen.

"Quidditch!" Ron roared, spewing toast over Harry.

"Really, Ronald!" Hermione scolded. "It's alright if you chew before you speak. We aren't going anywhere." The Weasleys had a paddock surrounded by trees that they could use for a pick up game of Quidditch. With Bill and Charlie back wards wouldn't be a problem and they could use more than fallen apples.

Harry's heart leapt at the thought of getting back on his Firebolt for a game of Quidditch. But as reached for the butter his aching ribs reminded him that he would have to be especially careful about hiding his injuries.

"Does everyone want to play?" Ginny asked, looking around the table. Ron immediately turned to Hermione with a pleading look on his face,

"C'mon, Hermione, please!" Hermione glanced up from her book,

"I don't like to fly." Ron looked bewildered.

"When's the last time you've flown?"

"Just before summer." Her voice was careful.

"I don't-" Harry pinched Ron's leg quickly. They definitely didn't need to mention Buckbeak and Sirius in front of the entire Weasley family. "Right. Right! Well…this will be different. Better. Please Hermione!" Ron recovered quickly.

"I'm afraid I can't join," Percy said primly as Ron rolled his eyes. "Mr. Crouch is expecting my report soon-"

"See Hermione! If you don't play we won't have even numbers! We need you." Hermione sighed.

"Alright. But you can't get upset at me for not playing well."

"It'll be fine." Ginny said quickly. "We'll figure out the teams once we get outside.

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Once they had helped Mrs. Weasley clear the table Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys all headed out to the paddock. As Bill and Charlie set up wards to keep the balls from flying out of their range, the others fell upon the shed, removing brooms and balls.

"Harry, be a mate and help me with this," George said nodding toward the ball crate. Harry flashed a grin on his face and walked over, gritting his teeth as his entire body twinged painfully. The extra weight made him lean more heavily on his bad leg. As he limped over to the center of the field he looked up to see Bill's concerned gaze on him and quickly averted his eyes.

"Alright," Fred called, drawing attention to himself. "Four people to a team, one seeker, one beater, no keeper, two chasers. Harry and Charlie may not be on the same team."

"And only one bludger," Bill added. "We don't need people getting hurt."

"Yes, Mum!" Fred threw over his shoulder as he headed over to unpack the balls.

They divided up with Charlie, Ron, George and Ginny on one team, and Harry, Bill, Fred and Hermione on the other team. As Harry soared into the air, he felt for one brilliant moment that he had left his injuries on the ground. As the game wore on though, the dull ache in Harry's leg escalated to sharp stabs and he thought that an encounter with the bludger had opened one of the welts on his shirt. Hoping that any blood oozing from the wound would simply blend in with the sweat that soaked his shirt, he cast his eyes around for the snitch. He saw Fred smacking a bludger off into the distance. (Bill had instituted a strict defense only rule for the beaters). He winced as Ron scored another goal. Bill snatched it out of the air and began to make his way to the other end of the paddock. And there it was. Hovering in front of the makeshift goals across the field was a glint of gold, almost invisible in the bright day. Without thinking Harry leant forward and shot towards the snitch. At that moment Bill launched their quaffle toward the goal and Harry crossed his path, the quaffle colliding violently with his head. But he didn't pause because the snitch was taking off, headed towards the ground and Charlie was moving after it. Harry immediately threw himself into a steep dive, urging his Firebolt faster. He and Charlie were neck and neck. Gritting his teeth once more he stretched his arm cracking open one of the "boundaries" that his Uncle had set. But the snitch was in his hand as he leveled off to keep himself from crashing into the ground and his teammates were cheering. His head ached from the collision with the quaffle, but it wasn't anything to be worried about and he flew down to land on the ground. Charlie was the first to land next to him and smiling ruefully he said,

"Nice catch," just as Ron joined them on the ground grousing,

"Damn it, Charlie! I'm on Harry's team next time." They all began packing the brooms and balls back into the shed. Bill reached out and placed a hand on Harry's head, where the quaffle had hit him, ignoring the repressed flinch.

"Is your head okay?" he asked quietly. Harry's eyes were guarded again and his voice was tense when he responded,

"Fine." And Bill remembered what the twins had told him before Harry arrived. Don't touch him. He removed his hand quickly.

"You might have a concussion."

"I don't. It's fine." He spoke with such a certainty that Bill didn't move to question him. They heard Mrs. Weasley calling them all for lunch and moved to join the rest of the group as they headed inside. Walking behind Harry, Bill squinted his eyes at a discoloration on his shirt. Was that blood?

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Once they had washed up, they all sat down for lunch and Bill continued to look for signs that Harry was hurt, whether from the blood Bill would swear he had seen or that his head was bothering him. But there was nothing. Harry was quiet, but Bill had no reason to believe that was unusual. He'd been quiet the entire time that he'd been there. Yet, Bill couldn't help but feel that the kid needed some serious healing.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Let me get the rest of the Shepherd' Pie. You all have finished these off."

"I'll get it, mum," Bill said quickly. He moved away from the table and when he reached into the oven to get the pies he allowed his hand to slip so that he was left with an angry, red burn. "Ouch!" he swore under his breath.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Weasley asked with worry in her voice.

"'Course," Bill said. "I'll just get some burn salve from the cabinet." He placed the pies on the table and walked over to the healing cabinet. He didn't check, but he thought that he could feel a pair of eyes watching him intently. He rummaged through the cabinet,

"Dittany for cuts, pain potion, _bruise_ salve, here we go! Burn salve." He slathered some on his hand and returned to the table, allowing himself a little smile.

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Harry woke feeling nauseous. He had eaten more today than he had during his weeks at the Dursleys and his stomach simply wasn't large enough to handle that kind of transition. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could from Ron's room to the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He flushed the contents away and rested his head against the cool seat briefly, grimacing at the taste in his mouth.

His body ached. All of him ached. And now he knew where the Weasley's kept their healing supplies. He briefly considered the fact that Bill might be setting him up. But although the older man had asked some uncomfortable questions and given him pondering looks, Harry had no reason to truly believe the man knew anything about his situation. And the pain was winning the discussion. If he didn't do something about it soon the entire family would know what was wrong with him. And that could never be good. They would either feel responsible for him and he would become a burden, or they would realize just how much he didn't deserve their kindness. He pushed himself, grunting, off the floor and rinsed his mouth out.

Glancing around the kitchen quickly to make sure that Bill wasn't down there again, he crept across to the cabinet. He began pulling out the things he hoped would help, careful to remember where he had gotten them so that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't realize someone had been snooping. With one last glance around the kitchen Harry slowly and painfully pulled his shirt over his head and then he heard a voice,

"Harry?"

A/N 2: Thank you all for the lovely reviews I've been left! And I'm sorry that I don't respond to them…it goes with the not updating territory. Just know that I read every one and get great joy and encouragement from them.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Surprise! It didn't take me 13 months this time.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Bill Weasley's voice echoed through the empty kitchen.

"Shit!" Harry thought. Of course he had already taken his shirt off. The worst of his beatings were exposed for Bill to see. Shit. What could he tell him? What excuse could Harry come up with?

"Harry," Bill repeated gently. Harry was clutching his shirt to his chest as he turned around, face devoid of emotion, eyes wary and guarded.

"So you _were_ setting me up," he said.

"I needed to know." Bill took a step towards Harry. Harry took a step away.

"Know what?" Bill raised his hands in the air, raising the white flag so to speak.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help." Harry's response was automatic.

"I'm fine. I don't need help."

"Harry, you're hurt. Really hurt. Let me help you. Please."

"I just got into a fight with my cousin. And I managed to cut myself. It's nothing to worry about." Harry winced internally. Bad lie. Bad lie.

"You managed to cut the work _freak_ into your back? Harry, I don't think so."

"Stranger things have happened."

"That doesn't make it OK."

"It doesn't matter what happened!" Harry's voice was heated and desperate. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Let me help heal you. You can't reach your back anyway." Harry hesitated, conflicted. He didn't want to let Bill help him. He had never wanted anyone to know. And he could feel Bill picking at his walls and story every time he spoke. But he hurt and Bill had already seen everything.

"Alright," Harry sighed reluctantly. "But you can't tell anyone about this."

"Harry we could help you."

"I don't need help!" Harry exclaimed moving away once more.

"OK! OK!" Bill said. "I won't tell anyone. Just let me heal you. Harry was still tense. He nodded jerkily. "Why don't you sit down in the chair. I'll work on your back." Harry sat down gingerly in the chair.

"So, I won't ask you what happened yet," Bill said conversationally. "I doubt you would tell me. Plus I have a pretty good idea." Harry was silent, shoulders tense. "Why don't we talk about something else instead?" Bill cast his mind around for the little that he knew about Harry. "When was the last timer Hermione went flying?"

"This morning." Harry's response was terse, but Bill laughed.

"No, before this morning. The time that she didn't like." Harry was silent staring straight ahead. Bill watched as the last of the bruises disappeared and he picked up the dittany.

"Erm…OK. Can you tell me about my sister's first year?" More silence. Damn. "Alright let's see…" He was finishing up with the cuts when he brushed past Harry's rib and felt the younger boy inhale sharply.

"Does that hurt?" Bill asked.

"Yes!" Harry gasped.

"Mmm…they're probably fractured or cracked – maybe even broken." He waved his wand and Harry felt his side warm. Bill pressed his fingers down on Harry's side again.

"Better?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Any other potentially broken bones that I should know about?" Harry looked down.

"My leg," he mumbled, gesturing to his aching limb. He felt the same warmth spread through his leg and the aching stopped.

Bill moved around to work on Harry's chest. Harry stared at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. Bill took another stab at conversation.

"I heard you, Ron, and Hermione won the house cup for Gryffindor first year. What did you three do that was so fantastic?" Harry's lips were sealed. "Has all of your time at Hogwarts been top secret?" Bill asked jokingly. "Are you corrupting my youngest brother?" Harry looked at him sharply and stood up so quickly that Bill was almost knocked off balance. Harry snatched up his shirt and darted towards the stairs.

"Thanks for healing me," he said stiffly and then he was gone.

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When Ron woke up the next morning he found Harry awake and already staring at the ceiling.

"Morning mate," he yawned, rubbing his eyes and pushing himself into sitting position.

"Ron," Harry said, voice clear, "do you ever think that your life would be better if you weren't friends with me?" Ron looked over at his best friend blearily.

"What?"

"Just do you ever think that you would have a better life if you had a different best friend. One who wasn't always getting you involved in things that you can't tell your family about or one who wasn't…corrupting you." Ron gaped at Harry.

"You think _you _are corrupting _me_?" he asked incredulously. "Mate, what were you doing last night?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Just thinking."

"Well you've got to stop that," Ron said shaking his head. "It's summer, no need for thinking. And you're bleeding head is taking you to weird and dangerous places." Harry stared at him blankly, eyes shining with uncertainty. Ron rolled out of bed.

"Alright, Harry, get up, get dressed. There's food downstairs. I can smell it."

"Ron, maybe you should just listen-" Ron pulled his pants on and turned to Harry.

"Har, I love you dearly. You're the light of my world. You're my favorite brother because you're the only one that I got to choose and I chose you because you're my favorite. I will happily listen to you when your head is not in weird and dangerous places." Satisfied that Harry had a small on his face he continued,

"Now get dressed because breakfast. I have been awake for ten minutes and we've already done the emotional stuff." Harry rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of bed,

"Alright mate, sorry to keep you from your food." Ron smirked at him,

"Well, you should be! Priorities, mate, priorities!" Ron waited as Harry finished getting dressed. "Oh, and mate?" Harry looked around at him. "If you think you're corrupting me because you've been talking to my family…ignore it. They're mostly idiots and probably didn't mean it. Unless you were talking to Percy…in which case I think _you_ are probably an idiot."

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Ron found his target while he was eating his breakfast. Harry and Hermione were chatting away, which left Ron to peer surreptitiously at his family. And although to the naked eye they would all appear to be acting normally, Ron knew better. He saw Bill glance over at Harry. He had his target.

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Bill was absently helping Fred and George neaten up shed, but his mind lingered on Harry. He couldn't fathom a family doing that to a child. He had obviously been beaten and slashed to ribbons. Harry hadn't said that it was his family, but Bill just knew. He had a feeling, and really, who else had the boy been with that summer?

Bill was just reaching to gather up an armful of broomsticks when he was smacked across the back of his head.

"Ow!" He yelped as he turned to see just who was attacking him. And there stood his youngest brother…who immediately smacked on top of his head.

"Ron! What are you doing?"

"I. Am. Hitting. You." He punctuated each word with a blow to his brother. George poked his head around the corner,

"Why are we hitting Bill?" Bill straightened up.

"We are _not_ hitting Bill."

"I am!" Ron said, swatting his brother once more. And Merlin's pants when did Ron get to be almost as tall as he was?

"But why?" Bill exclaimed, trying to block his brother's blows.

"Because I woke up this morning and Harry was questioning whether he was corrupting me! _Harry_. I don't think that Harry can corrupt anyone. _And it had something to do with you_." Bill didn't know how Ron knew. He was sure that he hadn't been obvious. _Not_ that he'd been doing anything wrong. Which he opened his mouth to Ron.

"No! I don't care what you did. If Harry wanted me to know he would tell me. But there are two needs you need to associate with Harry if you're going to continue speaking to him and trying to ruin his life."

"I'm not trying to ruin his life."

"Hero. Complex." Ron said slowly, poking his brother in the chest. "Hero complex. Harry will do anything he can to put other people first even if it doesn't need to happen. So, no mention of corrupting!" With that he smacked his brother's head one more time, turned on his heel and walked out of the shed. Bill turned to the twins with a question on his face. They shrugged and said,

"Ron knows Harry."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: So, this is better than thirteen months. I'm not especially happy with this chapter, but I needed to power through and I'm sorry that it's short. Thank you all so much for the reviews! I know I don't respond (which is bad of me), but I do read all of them and appreciate them. I can feel myself approaching a bit of a writer's block (and we all know that I don't need help not updating), so if you have any ideas send them my way!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

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_Dear Mr. Weasley, _

_You may be aware that this year Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament. The ministry has decided that it would be rest to provide the school with extra security. So, we are requesting the presence of some curse breakers. If you agree to assist us for the duration of the school year, you will, of course, be compensated. You would arrive with the students on September 1 to begin assessing the grounds and to become familiar with the territory and tournament. Please remember that this information is classified until such time that the Ministry sees fit to release it. _

_We await your owl, _

_Barty Crouch_

Bill grinned to himself as he read over the letter before he turned the lights off and went to sleep. Charlie glanced over at him from where he was clearing a spot off for himself on his own bed.

"What are you grinning about?" he asked.

"You're not the only one who gets to hang out at Hogwarts this year."

"They'll give you time off to go watch part of it?"

"They'll pay me to be there all year." Charlie looked up in surprise.

"What for?"

"Extra security." Charlie snorted.

"Yeah, because you're real secure, pretty boy!" Bill chucked a pillow in his brother's direction and then shot out of bed to rescue it and bring it back to his possession. The two brothers fell into a comfortable silence. Bill flopped back onto his bed and Charlie continued stacking books and papers on the floor. Bill was the first to break the silence.

"What do you think of Harry?" he asked as casually as he could. Charlie shrugged nonchalantly.

"Fred and George were right. He's small and quiet. Ron was right too…once you meet him you sort of forget he's this huge hero and just think of him as a kid." Charlie paused. "Fantastic flier."

"Fred and George were right," Bill mused. "Even about the touching." Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Especially about the touching thing, Bill! If you knew he didn't like to be touched then why would you touch him?"

"It's not like I made active efforts to touch him!" Lie. "I just accidentally brushed passed him a few times." Charlie looked at him incredulously.

"Are you flirting with a fourteen year old?"

"What? No!" Charlie snorted.

"Accidentally brushed passed my arse," he grumbled. "You do realize he's our youngest brother's best friend, right?"

"I am not flirting with a fourteen year old," Bill snapped. Charlie collapsed onto his bed and closed his eyes.

"Well make sure you're careful. You're buggered if you mess with Harry Potter. Accidentally or not."

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The next morning all the Weasley children (bar Percy), Harry, and Hermione gathered themselves together for a trip to Diagon Alley. The school lists had arrived a few days earlier and Bill and Charlie had offered to chaperone. Lists were clutched in hand and everyone was lining up at the fireplace. Charlie stepped up, grabbed a pinch of floo powder and disappeared in the flames. Bill watched Ginny step forward and noticed Fred and George sidle up to harry. He listened with interest. He hadn't talked to the boy since the disastrous healing session and he was itching to talk to him again.

"Psst. Harry!" Fred whispered while George kept an eye out for their mother.

"Yeah?" Harry asked.

"What did you do to end up in Knockturn Alley last time?" Bill's eyebrows shot towards his hairline.

"I think I choked on some ashes." Fred grinned.

"Thanks, mate. We owe you one!" Both Hermione and Ron had gone through the floo and Harry stepped up to take his turn. Once he had disappeared Fred tripped up to the fireplace and would have succeeded in shoving a handful of ashes into his mouth if Bill hadn't been privy to their conversation and grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

"No, Fred!" Bill said rolling his eyes. Fred straightened up and sniffed haughtily, sticking his nose in the air.

"Well, excuse me Mr. No-fun-pretty-boy! Thank you for trying to ruin our lives." George gave his twin a knowing look and said,

"You heard what Ronniekins said yesterday about him trying to ruin Harry's life." They gave each other sap ridden looks.

"He must only do it for the people he loves the most!" They exclaimed in unison, making a dash for the fire as Bill made to smack them.

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After a quick trip to Gringotts the group split up. Charlie took Fred, George and Ginny in search of dress robes for everyone. Bill took Harry, Ron and Hermione to Flourish and Blotts.

Once they entered the book store Hermione promptly dragged Harry and Ron off through the shelves and Bill began browsing. He quickly collected _Curse Breaking: The New and the Old _by Herman Strafsvitch and _Building and Breaking Wards _by Linda Sampson and continued to wander the shelves. When he heard Hermione's voice, he stopped out of sight, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

"Look! They have _So you want to be an Animagus?_ by Jerome and Sarah Harmlin! It's all about the process and theory of becoming an animagus!" Bill smiled at the obvious excitement in Hermione's voice, he was exactly like that when it came to curse breaking. Ron snorted lightly,

"Do they have _So you'd like to know that your pet rat is actually a grown man in animagus form_? Because that would be useful."

"I think that would have a limited target audience," Harry said in a mock serious voice. "Namely you. You could write it!" Ron and Hermione laughed.

"Yes," Ron's voice dropped to a whisper and Bill leaned in closer. "One: Is your pet the same as Peter Pettigrew's animagus form? Two: Did your pet appear around the same time that Peter Pettigrew disappeared? Three: Are your rat and Peter Pettigrew missing the same finger? If the answer to all of these questions is yes, your rat might actually be Peter Pettigrew, i.e. a grown man in animagus form!"

"Shhh!" Hermione shushed her two friends quickly, but Bill could hear the laughter in her voice. "Someone will hear us. And I'd like to see you answer any of those questions." The boys choked down their laughter and Harry said,

"Right. It's been hard enough avoiding your brother's questions." Ron pounced.

"What's he been asking about? And which brother?"

"Bill. And it's just been stuff about school. What did we do to win all those points first year? What happened with Ginny during second year? When was the last time Hermione went flying? It would be fine if we weren't, you know…us."

"Lie to him," Ron suggested flatly. "Just make some stuff up- ow!" Hermione had cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Lying is bad, Ronald!"

"You know what? We should probably get these books before Bill comes looking for us." Bill smirked knowing that his youngest brother was simply trying to escape Hermione's wrath. "And we should probably separate and each get books for a different subject. We'll never finish if we keep stopping together."

"Good idea!" Harry agreed quickly and Bill had to duck behind a shelf to keep from being seen as the three headed in separate directions.

Once the three friends had disappeared, Bill resumed his browsing, thinking about the conversation he had just overheard. Ron had told him that Scabbers had run away at the end of last year, but Peter Pettigrew? It was impossible. He had always known that his youngest brother had an overactive imagination, but this was a strange combination of fantasy and fact. He couldn't explain it. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice that he had entered the defense section until he walked smack into Harry.

"Oops, sorry Harry!" Bill said as Harry caught himself on a bookshelf to keep from falling.

"It's fine," the younger boy said quickly, refusing to make eye contact. They hadn't had a chance to speak the day before. Their last interaction had been the healing session. It was clear that Harry was very aware of that and also very uncomfortable with the entire situation. Bill paused momentarily, caught between the desire to talk to Harry immediately and the desire to let Harry relax before he broached any stressful topics. But this conversation was going to be stressful and uncomfortable for the lad no matter when it happened, so he might as well get it over with so that they could move on. Bill glanced around quickly, using his height to his advantage before he said,

"Listen, Harry. I'm sorry if I upset you the other night." He paused, but Harry made no move to indicate that he had heard him or that he was planning on responding. Bill plowed forward anyway. "That wasn't my intention. It's just that you need to talk to someone and I don't want to see you hurt." Harry glanced up at the older man quickly,

"You don't know me."

"I don't need to know you in order to want to keep you safe. And besides, from what I've seen, you seem like a wonderfully polite boy." Bill nearly bit his tongue to keep himself from throwing in an inappropriate adjective. Calling the young boy fascinating or enticing was hardly going to convince anyone that he wasn't lusting after his brother's friend. It also wasn't likely to inspire trust. "It's refreshing after my brothers. And what those muggles did to you was nothing short of terrible." Harry hadn't actually told him that his relatives were responsible, but everyone had their Slytherin side.

"You don't know their reasons," Harry said quietly, looking around. Bill sure knew how to pick a spot for a conversation. Merlin knows what would happen if somebody overheard them.

"Harry," Bill's voice was steady and his eyes serious as he captured Harry's gaze. "There is no acceptable reason for treating somebody like that. There is absolutely no excuse for abuse. I hope you know that." Harry didn't respond to that, merely collecting the defense books in front of him and saying,

"Hermione and Ron will have gotten the rest of the books by now. They'll be waiting." Bill nodded lightly and followed Harry on the trek back to the front. Determined to end on a light note he said,

"So, are you positive that you can't answer any of my questions about your school adventures." Harry shook his head.

"My lips are sealed."

"Come on! I'm not a parent you have to keep secrets from. I'm Ron's cool, favorite older brother!" Bill was delighted to see a small smile on Harry's face and a hint of laughter in his eyes as he responded. He could handle this kind of conversation. It was almost like talking to Ron.

"That's not what Ron tells me." The two had reached the front of the store where Ron and Hermione were waiting for them.

"Ron!" Bill said. "I was just explaining to Harry that I'm your cool, favorite older brother and he seems to think that I am incorrect." Ron didn't even blink.

"You're boring and I hate all of you." He deadpanned. Bill scoffed and turned away from his youngest brother.

"Come on, Harry. If you tell me I'll prove him wrong. Just one of your school adventures from the past three years and I will show you that I am the coolest Weasley brother." Ron jumped in as they neared the front of the line.

"Ignore his interrogation, Harry. Bill here is fascinated by people's friends because as a _freak_ he's never had any." Bill simply swatted his brother on the head and placed the books on the counter. But he saw Harry flinch and knew that he was thinking of the word that had been cut into his back and the scars that would never fade.


End file.
